


watch your own back, gendry waters

by starforged



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Romansu Feels, Sadly, Spoilers for 803
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: She spots Gendry below the battlements, a head taller than some of the crowd of women and children and men who know nothing but farming. Her heart pounds.





	watch your own back, gendry waters

She lets him sleep because he’s not a fighter, regardless of how much weight he can swing around. He’s going to need it.

Arya doesn’t know quite what it is that she needs. An end to the madness, her family to be safe. If the pack is scattered to the winds, then how is she supposed to protect them all?

She rolls over to face Gendry, watching his chest rise and fall in a soft, easy pattern. It’s - weird. Not the sex part. That’s fine. Good, really, she’s glad that he had a couple of girls before her even if does nag at her like fleas on a dog. It’s weird that he’s comfortable enough around her that he can manage to even sleep. It’s trust. 

He’s an idiot. She could gut him right now, and he’d never even know what did him in. 

He trusts her not to. Or maybe he’s just not even aware that she could. 

“Is it a family thing to stare without blinking?” Gendry mumbles in a tired, sated voice.   


Arya can’t even find it in herself to give him a smirk. She’s tired, worried, planning. “I’m thinking of all the ways I could drain you.”

“Oh, good. Pillow talk is a good sign for us and our - I don’t actually know what this is.”  


“A final send off,” Arya tells him. She lets the blanket fall from her body as she gets up and delights in the way his eyes scan her, take her in, devour her with a glance. And then she dresses. He’s awake, and she can go now.   


She could have gone anyway but that feels wrong. She doesn’t want to leave him without saying goodbye; they’ve lost each other for long enough. 

Gendry waits a moment more, his gaze growing more somber. He doesn’t say anything as he tugs his own breeches back on. They dress in silence with only the crackling of the fire and the shouting above them for company. People are moving, getting ready. The army must be approaching. Last minute preparations need to be made.

She has to say goodbye to Jon. She won’t let him go without saying goodbye. 

Gendry’s fingers graze her arm, uncertain. She glances up at him. He’s handsome, but he’s always been handsome. And soft. And annoying. 

“I should probably get some men together to pass out weapons,” he tells her.   


She nods. There are things she could say and should say, but she’s never been very good at words, and she does not have the time to understand what feelings might be bubbling under her skin. In a few hours, they might both be dead, and what do the dead care of friendships and sex?

“I’m not going to be able to protect you,” Arya settles on saying.  


He raises his eyebrows at her in surprise. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

She rests a hand on his chest, solid and firm, and not too long ago, hers to explore. “Don’t be a hero,” she cautions him. “It’ll get you killed.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his face even as his black brows furrow into one of bemusement. He covers her hand with his, grasps it, and she allows him to gently bring it to his mouth so he can kiss her knuckles. She grasps him by the chin once he’s done. 

“You watch your own back, Gendry Waters.”  


“Yes, my lady.”  


–

Arya stands next to Sansa, taking comfort in being with at least one of her pack. Even if it’s a bad idea, a horrid idea. If things go south, and they will, she knows they will, she can’t think about Sansa at the expense of herself. But she will. Gods, she will. 

She spots Gendry below the battlements, a head taller than some of the crowd of women and children and men who know nothing but farming. Her heart pounds. 

Sansa slips her hand into hers and squeezes her fingers. 

“When this is over,” Arya says, voice soft, “Winterfell is going to need a lot of repairs.”  


“So it will,” Sansa agrees.  


“I think I know a blacksmith who can help out with that. If he lives.”  


Sansa eyes her for a moment. “I didn’t take you for an optimist.”


End file.
